Public schools are funded by the government and have budgets like any other business. That’s an important fact to remember. A school is a business, and a business has to make money to survive. As education cuts were enacted, the vending machines paid their way into the party and replaced the once healthy meals. The playing fields and uniforms were branded with corporate sponsors, and every kid who attended school equaled another coin added to the accounts ledger for the business. As a teacher, the first task on my daily to-do list was to take attendance, because more bodies equal more money, and schools really, really needed the money.
“All right kids, let’s get started,” I said as I entered my first period class. “If you could all take your seats, please. Thank you.”
The room quieted down, and there was a noticeable tension in the air. Something was up, and everyone could feel it. Eyes darted left and right, as if they were waiting for the bravest one among them to make the first move. It was Lord of the Flies. Who would throw the first spear?
“Okay,” I said slowly, testing the waters. “Let’s start with attendance.”
“Wait.” A voice broke through the air. It was soft, at first, but insistent. Then silence. I looked up to see who had spoken.
Jett stood up from his desk, a nervous smile on his face. I looked concerned, and he could see that. A wicked grin quickly replaced his nerves.
“You’ll have to count me absent, Mr. Walter,” he said, with a newfound air of confidence. “My mom doesn’t want me in this environment anymore, and I have to agree with her. This just isn’t the place for a young, impressionable kid like myself.” He picked up his backpack and stood there for a moment, waiting. Would anyone back him up?
“Me, too,” said a buddy of Jett’s. “Count me absent.” He stood as well, and together they started to walk towards the classroom door with their things.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Walter.” It was one of my theatre kids, standing at his desk, too. “It’s not my choice. It’s my parents. They’re making me.” And he gathered his belongings and walked slowly towards Jett, fully projecting his awareness of the pain he knew his actions would cause me.
Within minutes, the entire classroom was standing at the door. Jett, the Pied Piper of Parkville High, led them from the room, where they joined hundreds of other students, already roaming the halls towards the main entrance.
I stood there in my empty classroom and looked at the desks, reflecting on what had just happened.
And I started laughing.
They say those raging wildfires that devastate California in the dry seasons are started by a lonely spark, usually an errant match or dying cigarette, casually tossed by a passerby.
Jett was our spark, and after him, the fire went wild.
When the entire student body of a high school walks out en masse, you can bet your ass every local news team will show up to report on the chaos. It wasn’t long before the national teams showed up, too, and suddenly we had a raging firestorm of a story.
Bammy was out front and center, leading the charge for the school. That was her job, after all, to defend the school board and to defend the mayor, all the while straddling that fine line between parents’ rights and the need for the students to return to classes. She was polite and erudite, without resorting to name calling or appeasements to the more lowbrow residents who were surely watching her every move. It was a difficult performance, and she pulled it off with grace.
Luke and I stood united with a bay of cameras and reporters facing us, prepared with a simple statement focused on equality, our legal rights, and our combined and determined focus on simply returning to work, as soon as possible. Our message was clear. We were not the ones standing in the way of these children’s educations. The parents were.
As principal, Bammy had no choice but to shut the school down for the day, as well as the foreseeable future. The students made it very clear to every camera and news reporter who would listen. They would not be returning to school as long as their parents told them to stay home.
I caught Bammy’s eye as she gave her umpteenth interview for the day. She did her best not to notice me, but I could see the strain. This was tough on her, but she was doing great. Her cell phone rang, and she turned to excuse herself. It was a call she had to take. She spoke quietly on the phone, then turned back to announce that she had just received a call that there would be an emergency school board meeting that night, a closed session to discuss their next move, privately. She thanked the reporters for their time, then reentered the school, followed by a trail of paparazzi.
Luke and I worked the crowd and made sure our message was received loud and clear by all the reporters and cameramen present, then we left in his car and headed to the gallery, otherwise known today as Love All Headquarters. “Operation Walkout” had been a huge success.
“Shit,” I said, once we were safely ensconced in his vehicle and I was sure we were no longer being recorded. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! I can’t believe that worked. I’m freaking out!”
“Let’s just hope it continues to play out as we planned, babe,” said Luke, shifting gears and getting us the hell out of there. “Tell me what happened! Who stood up first? Was it Jett, like we thought?”
“Yes! Of course. He’s a born leader,” I said. “He wants everyone to follow him. You can see that. My poor theatre kids. I felt so sorry for them. They were all prepped to go first, just in case, but it was exactly like you said. They hesitated, just like we asked them to, and Jett took over. He took the bait. Suddenly someone else’s plans for a coup were his. You should have seen the smirk on his face!”
“It was the same in my first period PE class. Chip stood up first. I’m not even sure he ever sat down. He just walked straight in, announced he was leaving and walked straight out, with everyone else following. He and Jett must have discussed it last night. They really think they’re in control of this thing, don’t they?”
“They do,” I said, excitedly. “But it’s not a home run, yet. Waddya say we try and steal third, today?”
“Are these sports metaphors just for me? ‘Cause you’re turning me on.”
“What can I say? You must be influencing me.”
“I’d say that’s mutual.”
We arrived at the gallery and entered to cheers from Kit, Meredith and the many supporters who had gathered to watch the live news feed on the television they had hooked up for the day on the 52” digital art screen. Not everyone was completely on board with what just went down, so we thought it best to bring the group up to speed.
“Hey, y’all,” I began, “thank you so much for being here today to support us. It means the world to Luke and me. ‘Operation Walkout’ was a huge success, and we want to catch you up on the details right now. Basically, schools are paid by the government based on attendance, per student, per day. It’s all about the money, right? So, thanks to a little nugget casually tossed off by our friend Scooter, we came up with a fantastic plan. If all the students walk out, then the school gets no money. We have a theory that the kids could care less that we are gay. Basically, they just want out of school. So we played on that. With a few well-placed phone calls to some of my trustworthy theatre students and Luke’s loyal athletes, we initiated the idea for a walkout. And we were lucky enough that the idea not only caught on, but that the social leaders of the school took on the plan as their own. We wanted a walkout, and boy, we got a walkout!” The gallery erupted in cheers.
“But here’s the thing,” I added, cautiously. “Right now, we control the narrative. The story is still anti-Derek, anti-Luke.” The cheers became boos. “No, no, no,” I responded, “it’s cool. Because together, we’re gonna change that. Here’s what we’re counting on. We’re pretty sure the school board will suspend us, and that’s fine. That’s okay. But we’re also pretty sure that the students won’t go back to school, even if we’re not there. They’re counting on some holiday time, right? So, let’s say that there is a suspension.”
/> As if on cue, my cell phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw that it was Bammy. I held my hand up, and asked the room for silence.
“Bammy!” I answered, cheerfully.
“Mr. Walter?” She was cold, sterile. “Hello, this is Principal Talbot calling. Do you have a moment to speak?”
“Whoa,” I said, immediately understanding. “I take it you’re at the school board meeting?”
“Precisely, Mr. Walter. It’s my duty to inform you that regrettably, the school board has handed down a unanimous decisions to suspend you and Mr. Walcott for one week, pending a public hearing on Friday.”
“Got it,” I said. “Call me later when there aren’t others watching your every move?”
“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Walter. I assume you will communicate the same message to Mr. Walcott? I will pass on the message that you have accepted our ruling. We will see you next Friday at 7pm. Good day to you, sir.” And she hung up.
Wow. I knew that was tough for her, but I was so proud of my Bammy. She was playing her role to a T, and she was nailing it.
“That was Bammy. Principal Talbot, I should say. Luke, we’ve been suspended for a week.” Again, more boos. “But!” finger pointing in the air, “there will be a public hearing next Friday at 7pm. And that, my friends, is our deadline. Our last shot. We need to turn this story around, and we have seven days to accomplish that. This isn’t a story about closed-minded teens who are afraid of gay teachers, this is a story about closed-minded parents who are afraid of their kids growing up and experiencing the real world. And whatever parents don’t like, kids love, am I right? If those kids want to really piss off their parents, we need to help them refocus their message. They won’t go back to school unless Luke and I are there, teaching and coaching just as we did before this whole mess started. Can I get an AMEN?!”
I had never felt so much like a preacher in my life, standing in front of that growing, cheering crowd. I was trained as an actor, sure, so public speaking came easy to me, but I had found a passion that I never knew could exist in me like this. It was love. And I was doing all of this because of the love of my fantastic friends and the amazing man standing by my side.
“Derek, it’s Tommy!” Meredith was yelling to me from the back of the room, cell phone in her hand. “He was just at Amber’s place, working. He said he has something he needs to tell you and he’s on his way here.”
Tommy stood with me, Luke, Meredith and Kit in the corner of the gallery. I was pretty sure he had broken every speed limit from Amber’s place to downtown, because he showed up in record time.
“So, I was over at Amber’s today,” he began. “Like I told y’all, I’m working on extending her deck. You know what it’s like. I’m running around, minding my own business, and they don’t even really notice I’m there. I’m ‘the help,’ you know? I’m invisible. Anyway, Jett shows up because school has been cancelled, and he starts to tell Amber the whole thing, like it was his idea to stage a walkout, when you and I know y’all basically fooled him into doing it. So Amber props him up and is all proud of him and shit, like he did a great thing. Seriously, these two are like best buds. She doesn’t even try to parent him. But long story short, y’all were right. He doesn’t give a shit that you’re gay. For him it’s all about just not going to school. He straight up told her that. And Amber? She doesn’t care, either. For her it’s all about revenge.” He turned to Luke. “I don’t know what you did to her, Luke, but that woman hates you. Or she loves you? Kinda both, actually. Whatever, she just wants to see you suffer. How’d I do?”
“Sweet!” I said. “Best spy ever!” Meredith gave him a great big hug. He was definitely getting lucky, tonight.
My phone buzzed again, and I pulled it out of my pocket. Bammy.
“Derek!” I could hear her heart pounding through the phone.
“Bammy! Can you talk, now?”
“Derek, I’m so sorry! But I had to. You know that. I feel just awful.”
“Bammy, slow down,” I said. “Take a breath. Everything’s cool. You did great! I was so proud of you.”
“I was ‘bout to die,” she drawled. “Talking out against you practically killed me, but I stuck to the high road. They fell for it, just like you said they would. I stood in line, just like a good soldier. They wanted to fire you and Luke on the spot, but I talked them out of it. Michael and I, both. Talk of lawsuits and legal battles and national press focus on the town, and they fell in line just like we wanted them to. No one wants all that negative attention. We have one week, my friend. One week. I hope you have the rest of this plan figured out, because if you don’t bring the big guns to that school board meeting on Friday, it looks like we’re cooked.”
“So far, so good,” I said, “but yeah. Still some pieces to figure out. Red has asked us to dinner tonight at his place. He’s trying to mediate an end to the animosity between Luke and Lana. But we can’t let him in on our real reasons for what happened today, so we just have to play along. And honestly, Lana is our Plan B. She has the power to call off the CCCP. She may still be our best bet. Wish us luck?”
“Good luck, my friend,” she said. “I love you. I would not go through this nonsense for anyone else, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Today was pretty nerve racking,” she said, her voice quavering. “Michael’s taking me to dinner tonight. He’s acting all sketchy. I’m not sure my heart can handle anything else today. Either he’s found out that I snooped and he’s gonna tell me off, or he’s just tired of me asking so many damn questions and he’s gonna tell me everything. Regardless, I’ll text you later. Love ya, bye.”
Operation Walkout, over and out.
14
THE WALCOTTS
I was admittedly nervous heading over to meet Red and Rosa. I’d heard so much about them from Luke, and of course I had accidentally discovered Red at the Bears’ Club in Beret’s dressing room, though I quickly pretended not to see them together. We had yet to be formally introduced though, and tonight I wasn’t invited just as a friend; I was to be presented as Luke’s boyfriend. I felt like a debutante at a coming out ball. Yikes. There was so much that could go wrong tonight, and I had to be on my best behavior. Unfortunately I know myself, and when I get nervous, I drink. And when I drink, I get chatty. And when I get chatty, I say stupid things. Luke quietly reminded me to watch my intake of alcohol. I could easily have been offended, but when he’s right, he’s right.
The Walcotts were Parkville’s answer to Dynasty. Red Walcott was Blake Carrington. Not John Forsyth, the actor who played Blake, but Blake himself: a nattily dressed silver haired fox who had his pick of the ladies when he was younger, and could probably do the same today. That Walcott charm goes far, and both Luke and Lana inherited his infectious smile, whether it was backed with good intentions or simply being used as a persuasive tool. Ever the salesman.
Red made his fortune in land deals, or as Rosa would say later during dinner, “He sells dirt.” He certainly didn’t have a rough start in life. Red’s grandfather and father had been involved in local business as far back as anyone could remember, making deals and establishing Parkville as an important trade stop between the North and South. The railroads, the Warehouse District, urban planning, the Walcotts had been involved in it all, and they had profited enormously. Red took his father’s inheritance and invested in land. He flipped properties, pushed for rezoning and deregulations, and helped to create sprawling commercial shopping centers where farms and pastures once reigned supreme. He didn’t just sell dirt; he sold dreams to prospective buyers. And they made him rich by buying it all.
Uncle Barry had told me that Red was naturally expected to marry Posy. Sure, he played the field, but they both knew that neither of them had a choice, eventually. Theirs wasn’t a romance for the ages, it was more a romance for the pages. The Parkville society pages, to be precise, had proclaimed their match a done deal, and they simply needed to follow through with it, no qu
estions asked. You could say they were in the same weight class.
Posy Walcott, née Lindbergh (no relation to Charles, but how kind of you to inquire), also had an electric smile, but hers was made of glass, unmoving. Some say she inherited her cold nature from her Scandinavian ancestors. She was ice. Beautiful, glistening ice. A member of every charity board, the head of every social club, Posy established her rule quite quickly, and no one dared lay claim to her throne. She was untouchable.
Unfortunately, that very same nature that kept her onlookers at bay also extended to her two children, Luke and Lana.
We approached the front door and Luke reached out to ring the doorbell.
“It’s the house you grew up in,” I said. “Can’t we just walk in?”
“Welcome to the Walcott residence,” he said, back straight, eyes forward. “There are rules, and rules are meant to be followed.”
“Shit. What have you gotten me into?”
“You said that out loud, you know?” We could hear footsteps approaching. “Inside voice, remember?” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
You know that feeling when you are in the first car of the roller coaster, and the wheels beneath you are clicking and clacking, ascending their way up to the very peak of the track before that first death-defying drop? The excitement is building, and you know the ride will either be awful or amazing, but you kind of wish you could just get off and have your friends tell you about it later so you can make up your mind based on their experiences? Yeah, that. Times ten. That’s what I was feeling right now. Honestly, I was trying so hard not to pass gas.
The Fire Went Wild (Home is a Fire Book 2) Page 12